to dust or to gold

Yuuri is beautiful like this. Breathtakingly so, which is all the more fitting since Viktor just stole his breath away. That’s part of what’s so beautiful about him, about this entire situation: that Viktor is capable of making Yuuri come so completely undone. It’s the entire scale, with this, of the things Viktor can do to Yuuri, the other end being that hyperfocused precision they managed to achieve in tandem on the ice. That, too, was almost stunning (good thing it wasn’t literally, the last thing they would have needed is Viktor freezing up on the ice just to stare at his fiancé).

His expression softens when Yuuri presses his cheek against his palm, a thumb automatically moving to caress the soft skin. He’s not truly upset with him anymore; they’ve worked through it, cleared up the misunderstandings, that’s good enough. Except, maybe Viktor felt… well, he’s not completely sure, since the feeling came completely instinctively, but now in hindsight, while Yuuri is catching his breath, Viktor reflects that perhaps there is one last layer of dishonesty that they needed to scrape away – Viktor had to admit he was scared, even if he did so in a somewhat roundabout way, and Yuuri, he needs to respond in his own right.

And he’s doing exactly that, and when he does, Viktor relaxes even more, even going as far as letting a genuinely sheepish smile curl onto his lips, his hand sliding a little lower so he could brush his thumb against Yuuri’s bottom lip. “You don’t have to apologize.” What Viktor asked for was a promise, not an apology. What’s past is past – resolved, put away to be learnt from, they ought to look ahead, right? “You thought if you didn’t let me go, I’d leave on my own terms.” It hurts to say it, a little bit – but, then again, neither of them are mind readers. “It just comes down to the fact that we need to talk more openly.”

As for what that means exactly… “I was testing you, sort of.” It means it’s Viktor’s turn again. To come clean, so that the two of them can really start anew. “You kept talking about retiring – you wouldn’t even answer me when I flat out said you shouldn’t. And when you bought those rings – but then you said they were a thank you, and a lucky charm, and, you know, that was really confusing.” Viktor lets out a short laugh, but he doesn’t let go of Yuuri – he wants him to feel that this isn’t about Viktor being upset with him, not anymore. “So I said that thing about us being engaged at the restaurant to see how you’ll react, not the others. And,” he huffs another small laugh, “I guess I was also hoping it’d motivate you, if I said if you win gold, and you took me seriously. But, Yuuri…”

It’s – a stupid scene, really. They’re in the goddamned locker room. There’s nobody else around, and they’re both exhausted and sweaty and Viktor is starting to feel how cold the stone floor is under his socks-covered feet. But there is this impulse, and Viktor has never said no to his impulses, because they were what drove his inspiration, his art, his life – his love.

That’s what now drives him to pull away, far enough, actually, that he has space to lower a knee onto the ground, hand sliding down from Yuuri’s face to take his other hand. There are so many things he could say; Viktor has never had a problem to be eloquent. I’ve already gotten something gold from you, it doesn’t get any better, he thinks, and what we have isn’t contingent upon our scores, and several other well-phrased monologues that he then all lets fade away. Because – this isn’t an eloquent moment. His feelings aren’t – they’re a complete mess, and it’s Yuuri’s fault, it’s all Yuuri – because what they have is not something Viktor has ever experienced before, so how could anything he says do it justice? In the end, there is just his raw, naked heart, taken out of its coral shell and placed gently, pounding and shivering, into this incredible, talented, gentle man’s hand.

“Marry me.”

The conversation rouses old thoughts Yuuri had mulled over in over the course of the past month. The rings hadn’t exactly been premeditated—thoughts of engagement hadn’t exactly been on his mind as he’d purchased them. But when he’d spotted the jewelry store that day, and this particular set, he knew, then, that he wanted, selfishly, more ways to bind Viktor to him than through skating alone. It had felt fitting to call them good luck—omamori—and his mind had skirted over the implications, that this was something couples did as well, for love. But that kind of cultural intimation isn’t likely to be something Viktor would know without explanation. One day he’ll explain, but now isn’t the time, not with this current turn of conversation.

There’d been safety in ambiguity, in calling the rings good luck; by avoiding explicitly saying anything more, he could let Viktor interpret as he wished. His surprise during the dinner when Viktor called them engagement rings bordered on outright shock, but not in an unpleasant way. After he’d had time to process what was happening, he’d been happy. If all of this has been love, he doesn’t think anything else can compare.

Yuuri lets out a soft noise as he skims his hand up the front of Viktor’s shirt, fingers grazing the skin of the man’s neck before he reciprocates a gesture, touching a thumb against Viktor’s lower lip as well. “How could you test me like that?” he says teasingly, with absolutely no bite in his voice, the words familiar on his tongue. Except this time he isn’t mad at all, not like he was in China, and even that is practically a fond memory at this point, an assertion that Viktor isn’t perfect. It makes him all the more real. That everything here, the pair skate they’d performed together, really happened.

He lets out a breath before he replies, the words coming more easily to him. It’s warm here, speaking openly to each other like this, reaching new levels of communication.

“I guess that... Some part of me thought I was keeping you trapped, away from something you loved. At the time I could only think of how much you belonged on the ice, and that I was keeping you from it. I don’t mind the world hating me for taking you away, but I... I minded the idea that I was still holding you back. It sounds stupid, doesn’t it? You’ve told me so many times that you’ve been doing what you’ve chosen to do. That it’s your choice. But even then, I thought, maybe I was tricking you somehow, or influencing you in such a way you didn’t even realize how much you wanted back on the ice.”

He fits the words into a space in the conversation when Viktor pauses, the thoughts nearly tripping over themselves. It feels—good, getting that off his chest, and in hindsight maybe it was some of his anxiety speaking when he’d contemplated such things initially.

For a moment there’s a split-second wave of panic as Viktor pulls away, and Yuuri wonders if he’s said something wrong, if maybe he’s said too much, but the feeling tumbles sidelong and morphs into something else entirely as Viktor kneels before him. Yuuri stands there staring, breath hitching, and then—

Marry me.

Is he hearing this correctly? Did Viktor really—did he seriously just—

Yuuri doesn’t realize he’s crying until he’s already ten seconds into his tears, the moment stretching before him like a reversal of when he’d made Viktor cry. But it would be wrong to compare this to then, not when the overwhelming feeling in his chest is something he can only call joy. There are tears clinging to his eyelashes, rolling down his cheeks, and if he tries to say anything now he’s positive he’ll break down into an ugly mess. Even so, his heart is swelling; it’s all so incomparable Yuuri can barely process it all.

“Yes,” he catches himself saying, voice choking, his lips curving into his most brilliant smile to date, “yes, yes—I can’t—I couldn’t imagine wanting anyone else—Viktor—”

@lyotsar

It's once the boxes are all tucked into a corner of the living room that Yuuri lets himself finally breathe and take in his surroundings.

It shouldn't feel that strange, being in this apartment. Yuuri's lived with Viktor all those days at Yu-topia, has shared hotel room after hotel room with his coach-turned-rival-and-still-coach. But there's something deeply intimate with the notion of being in a space that is uniquely Viktor's, well and truly living here. He's almost scared to touch anything lest he change anything out of its original configuration.

Deeper down, there's another urge: something more visceral, territorial. The idea of leaving traces of himself, of signs he's here too, the two of them alone in shared space. Yuuri casts a curious gaze at the kitchen, with its sleek and minimalistic décor. Like something out of an interior design magazine, maybe. He should have known Viktor does everything in style. In spite of this, it feels foreign; Yuuri’s mind struggles, still, to reconcile everything he's known with the reality that he's genuinely here to stay. So Yuuri turns to the one familiar thing in this space: the man himself. He sags a little against Viktor's side, resting his head a bit on Viktor's shoulder, fingers tentatively reaching out to curl at the edge of the man’s sleeve.

Yuuri's dozing at the kotatsu when his cellphone chimes with a notification—it's one of his occasional rest days, and even though he knows he shouldn't sleep so soon after lunch, he let himself fall asleep anyway. It's been cold outside, but the interiors of Yu-topia are warm and inviting, everything forming a cascade of events ultimately leading to an impromptu nap. Part of him is guiltily grateful for the interruption, once the haze in his mind clears. He touches his forehead, vaguely amused by the wood texture that's formed slight indentations in his skin. Right, this is bad for my back, he muses, pawing to the side for his phone.

Of course, as soon as he has it, Yuuri just lets himself fall back onto the floor cushions, burrowing under the kotatsu blankets so that just his head, hands, and phone are visible.

"Oh, looks like Guanghong got the present..."

International shipping is always a bit of a hassle, and inwardly, he's glad he timed it in advance to make sure the package would arrive on the right day. Guanghong's selfie looks adorable in spite of the blurriness. It would be nice if he smiled more like this, looking happy and unhaunted by self-consciousness. For a moment Yuuri contemplates sending a reply selfie, except... Well, his hair is frazzled and a mess, his face probably still has weird indents on it from him sleeping with his head down on the table, and his current position is totally not conducive for optimal selfie-taking. Phichit would be ashamed of him if he even tried right now.

The wiser option, of course, is just to reply as he normally would.

[txt] ; no problem, i'm glad you like it!

[txt] ; haha, i was watching reruns of competitions when i got the idea for a teddy bear...

[txt] ; i know you get a lot from fans, but i don't think i saw any on the ice or in the kiss and cry with you after your performances that looked quite like this one, in this particular color

[txt] ; it was really soft, so

Roleplaying History

The rules are simple! Post ten characters you’d like to roleplay as, have role played as, and might bring back. Then tag ten people to do the same (if you can’t think of ten characters, just write down however many you can and tag the same amount of people). Aside from that, please repost instead of reblogging!

Currently Playing:

Yuuri Katsuki (Yuri!!! on Ice)

Have Played:

Neku Sakuraba (The World Ends With You)

Hibiki Kuze (Devil Survivor 2)

Kazuya Minegishi (Devil Survivor)

Kazuya Miyuki (Ace of Diamond)

Zephirin (Final Fantasy XIV)

Considering Playing:

At one point I considered Viktor Nikiforov, Mila Babicheva, Minako Okukawa, and even Makkachin (also even briefly contemplated Axel, Lutz, and Loop, haha). But given my terrible track record for speedy replies on just one muse, I figured it would be best not to bite off more than I can chew.

Yuuri is thinking so hard about something that Viktor can practically see the cogs turning in his head. What it is that has him so wound up, though, seems to want to remain a mystery for now, as all he gets in the end is a placid agreement with his earlier statement, Yuuri flopping down onto the bed as if he’s giving up a losing fight against his own self. Viktor always wants to know what Yuuri is thinking, though he almost never asks. The barrier between his mind and his mouth has been there for longer than Yuuri has been skating at all, and it’s not something Viktor can break through in a matter of moments, just because Yuuri is prodding at him a little more than usual.

“Absurd,” is what he finally says, after a momentary pause. “What am I supposed to be getting out of it?” Of course, there are a variety of responses to that – and Viktor doesn’t want to hear any, so he just tosses his hair out of his face and smiles at Yuuri again; it’s the usual smile, the public one, the smile that says you’re asking futile questions that won’t be genuinely answered in the here and now. Yuuri, who has seen a wide variety of Viktor’s genuine smiles, more than most, will obviously be able to tell the difference in a second, but Viktor doesn’t care.

“Nobody dragged me here, right?” he says, tilting his head, his tone cheerful and unrevealing of anything he might be genuinely feeling. “I am doing this because I want to be doing this.” There is a momentary pause, and then he meets Yuuri’s gaze – and finally, there is a hint of honesty in his eyes. It’s bitterness. “I suppose I generally come across as a person who would be selfish enough to do something like that solely for personal gain, so I don’t fault you for asking me that.”

And, really, that’s as genuine as it gets – Viktor is very aware of the fact that he is the only one to blame for his own public image. Yakov may have said some insensitive things about him to the press in his anger, but those, too, were rooted in fact, based on things Viktor had said or done in the past. His image is a purposeful, carefully constructed one, and if this here proves anything, it’s that there are definitely a lot of parts of this whole coaching thing that Viktor didn’t think through carefully enough. Sure, he did tell Yuuri on the very first evening of them meeting that they should get to know each other better, but at that point, he most definitely did not expect the other to actually see past the façade, to really start getting to know him. It's… almost surreal, because it’s been a while since anyone even tried to do that, and – Viktor is at least honest with himself – it’s nothing short of terrifying.

Something. Anything. Anything more than whatever nothing you've received so far—

"I wasn't trying to imply that," he mumbles, both slightly cowed and also feeling vaguely stubborn, like they've reached two sides of the same wall, trying to speak through rows upon rows of sealed mortar. The bitterness in Viktor’s eyes takes him by surprise. Either way, Yuuri’s thoughts home in on one question while his tongue focuses on the other. The dissonance hits strong, but Yuuri has long mastered the art of running away from his problems, and it's not like this is any different. It would be too much, too soon, blurting those thoughts. He could handle some kind of rejection better if he's had more time to steel himself; right now, he simply isn't prepared to speak his mind clearly. Viktor's patent interview smile is back, like a warning flag, and in the face of it Yuuri presses his own mouth into a neutral line. Maybe Viktor does want to be here, but—

Then what is it?

If they're getting into the question of selfishness, there's no doubt that Yuuri's been selfish too, desperately placing his own hopes in Viktor's unexpected arrival. It doesn't bother him at all that Viktor's motivations for coming here could stem from self-gain. Who would expect another person to drop their entire career to coach them for absolutely no reason? He's been anxious over Viktor's presence for quite a while now, and Yuuri has no singular reason for it, but it's enough that there's just a certain discomfort niggling in the back of his mind that he can't even explain.

He shifts a bit, gaze distant, settling along the far wall. It lands on a scrap of semi-transparent tape still stuck there. Ah, that was the spot where I put the first poster Yuuko gave me until Viktor came to Hasetsu, he remembers. First poster. When he'd initially grown inspired. The kind of inspiration that could make someone fly. Or, at the very least, have the faith to take that starting leap.

Maybe it's just that simple, he thinks idly. His doubts are fanged, multi-pronged things, but maybe this isn't so much doubt as it is...a simple want. He'd heard Yuri's thoughts on what Viktor was going through, and the ideas had never quite left. Yuuri will probably never know Viktor nearly half as well as Yuri seems to, but in the wake of his own painful, self-doubting slump, he thinks maybe it could be nice to do some of the inspiring for once, instead of simply being inspired. So whatever it is they have is more of a two-way street instead of Yuuri feeling terribly, terribly out of his league. Not just so Yuuri can feel good about himself—if it were for that express purpose it wouldn't feel good by virtue of the inevitable guilt he'd nurse—but because there's some kind of power in inspiring someone else, especially when that someone has inspired him his entire life.

How stupid, actually. To want something to mean all kinds of things when it would make more sense to just let them be. To want this coaching scenario to be something meaningful to Viktor, too—as if everything has to mean something profound. It's blowing things out of proportion.

Yuuri's just a dime-a-dozen skater. It's practically hubris to think he can really do anything for a living legend himself. It's not a thought that brings him any real grief in this moment, more of a long-accepted notion. But the sentiment hangs there as he finishes organizing his thoughts.

“But it’s—a good thing,” he says, a breath escaping him like some kind of half-sigh. “Uhm, that you’re here because you chose to come here, that is, and not because of—something else. There isn’t much point in coaching someone like me otherwise.” If he were here out of some kind of obligation, I’d feel too guilty.

With another breath, he pushes himself back up into a sitting position. It feels a little like that moment right before he’d performed Eros—when he’d taken that step and closed the distance, arms wrapping around Viktor. “I wouldn’t say there’s something you’re supposed to get, but if...” If there’s something I can do at all; if there’s something only I can do, something that really proves that I’m worth this—you really being here, your career on hold, how everyone says it’ll be hard for you to come back to skating after this—

He bites his lip. The words die in his throat, and the moment dies with them.

Breathe, he tells himself.